Birds & Bullies
by doesnotloveyou
Summary: After Peter's parents die, he and his school friend Harry try to cope by wasting time about the town after school. But they have to go home sometime. (one shot; The Amazing Spider-Man 2).


The rock misses by a long shot, but the seagull still jumps, wings akimbo as it looks to see where the scary thing went. Peter and Harry laugh so hard Harry has to sit down to catch his breath. The seagull flaps its wings in irritation and stalks off down the beach.

Peter looks at his secondhand wristwatch. "It's getting late."

"Relax," Harry sifts through the rocks next to him. "The sun hasn't set yet, we've got plenty of time."

Peter blows a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. "I could've gotten it."

Harry looks up at the seagull, now far away. "Yeah. It walks like Ms. Branagh."

Peter guffaws and throws a pebble in Harry's direction. "It does!"

Harry mimics the way their teacher's lower law juts out and Peter does a rough imitation of her gait, kicking rocks under his sneakers as he shuffles. They laugh some more.

...

The portly vendor wriggles his walrus mustache as he squirts ketchup onto two hotdogs. Peter rocks back on his feet and glances at his wristwatch again. "I'm telling you, we've been gone too long, my aunt's gonna be ticked off."

Harry still has to stretch to hand the vendor a crisp bill. "We've got time, whiner."

Peter chews on the inside of his cheek, watching the two girls across the street as they sing N*SYNC at the top of their lungs. The redheaded one has a nice voice. Peter shakes his head and scowls. Girls are gross. He has another year or two before that changes.

Harry hands Peter a hotdog, holding his own daintily as though it were a crown jewel. Peter crams his in his mouth as soon as he has it, then gags around the steaming food. Harry laughs under his breath before taking a careful bite.

"Why d'you al'ays eat lik' dat?" Peter demands around his toasty mouthful.

Harry swallows before speaking. "You're a prime example, Pete."

"_You're _a prime example," retorts Peter once he's choked the food down. "Weirdo."

Harry smiles and makes a face, and Peter slaps his arm with a giggle.

...

"I think my dad is mad at your dad."

Peter gulps and furrows his eyebrows. "Oh, yeah? Why?"

Harry shrugs and sidesteps a curious pigeon. "I just heard him yelling about it. He said 'Parker', but I don't know what else he said."

Peter balls up his hotdog paper and kick-drops it down the street. "Is he…could he be mad at him for dying?"

Harry grimaces. "You can't get mad at people for dying, Peter."

Peter knows you can, but if Harry says so. "Then, well what does he have to be mad about?"

"I don't know, okay?" Harry snaps. "He was just yelling and he said your last name, how should I know? After that he yelled at me and I got sent to my room, I don't know, forget it."

"Sorry." Peter tucks his hands in his coat pockets.

"Hey, dog shits!"

Harry sucks in his breath as Peter looks over his shoulder. "Oh no."

The two of them tear down the sidewalk as fast as they can, but the older kid grabs the tail of Peter's coat. Peter tries to jerk it off, but one of his arms gets stuck in the sleeve and before he can get it out the bully has him by the front of his shirt.

"Let go!" Harry shouts, hitting the other kid. Peter kicks and kicks until the older kid pushes him down. He jumps back up fast, his jacket still hanging off one arm, and starts hitting the older kid to get him to let go of Harry now. With a few crisp bills crumpled in his hand, the bully finally knocks Harry down too and runs off.

"Chicken!" Peter shouts after him with as much rage as he can muster. "Big, retarded chicken!"

"Ow." Harry sits up and touches the back of his head then checks his fingers. Looking up at Peter he says flatly, "Your nose is bleeding."

Peter rubs his watery eyes- he is _not_ a baby- tilts back his head, and pinches his nose. "Habba tissue?"

While brushing himself off, Harry pats his pockets. "No."

Peter reaches for his back pocket where he just remembered Aunt May had tucked a paper napkin for his lunch as he hurried out this morning. "Nebermind."

The street isn't very bright anymore as they make it to the Osborn's front gate. Harry laughs again at the paper sticking out of Peter's nose as he turns the key. "You should really get those trimmed."

"I 'doh." Peter smiles. "'By dad did dis when he hadda code."

Harry nods. "My housekeeper does that too."

Peter laughs at the thought of the Osborn's fat, old cleaning lady with tissue stuffed up her nostrils. He takes the soiled napkin out carefully. "Later, man."

"Bye." Harry says, pushing open the cast iron gate outside his house. "You sure you don't want me to order you a car?"

"You already bought me a hot dog and punched that jerk. You don't need to get me a whole car now, sheesh."

Harry chuckles grimly. "Okay, I'll see you tomorrow."

...

A man on the subway gave him a moist wipe for his nose and he didn't want to be rude even though it smelled like crazy and hurt his head. Keeping an eye out for any other hostile classmates, Peter walks briskly up his own street, barking at Mr. Racowski's dogs as they chase him along the fence.

Just as he steps into his own yard the front door opens and his aunt steps out and looks down the street. Then she sees him and the relief in her face tells him he's definitely in trouble.

"God Almighty, where _have _you been?" She hurries down the steps and takes him by the shoulder. "I nearly called the cops to go looking for you, don't you ever do that to me again."

Peter sighs, and wipes his shoes off on the mat once she reminds him to. He didn't get all the blood, and there's still ketchup and dirt on his hands from the rocks, so he has to practically take a whole bath before he can have dinner.

In the hallway bathroom he rubs a wet towel over his face as the water runs. He's still not tall enough to look in the mirror, so he has to guess where the blood still is on his face. He said it was allergies and Aunt May told him it was winter, but he didn't get why that meant it couldn't be allergies. So he was in trouble now for lying too.

Stepping back into the hall, Peter catches movement out of the corner of his eye. A grownup is coming up the stairs. It's his dad! It has to be his dad, he knew he couldn't be dead, it's totally his-

It's just Uncle Ben. Peter's heart drops with a dull thud and he trudges into the dining room. "Uncle's home."

"Alright, well set the table, dear." May runs her hand over his head as she passes by him to greet her husband. Peter sighs and lays out the silverware and napkins. Whenever he does this he always sets out two more imaginary plates where mom and dad will sit when they come to dinner. The grownups converse lightly in the hall, and when they laugh Peter takes that as his cue to step out with a crooked smile and greet his uncle.


End file.
